Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Roman
The East River docks at midnight. I stared down at the two men kneeling before me.
Industrial floodlights pinned them in place. Their fear was crystal clear.
"Boss! Please! Just let me explain—"
Mickey was a blubbering mess. His nose was already broken, blood smeared down his chin.
Sal took fewer hits, but the concrete beneath his knees was already darkening into a spreading stain.
The stench of piss hung in the air.
I looked at them like they were already corpses. Not an ounce of sympathy.
Ten million dollars.
That's what these idiots had cost me tonight. A whole shipment of weapons, now sitting in a federal evidence locker.
But the money wasn't the point.
What really turned my stomach was the betrayal. The second the feds kicked down that door, these two assholes—supposed to be covering the retreat—ran like rabbits, locking their own brothers inside as human shields.
Five of my men didn't make it home tonight.
Because these two wanted a few extra minutes of breathing.
"Please listen! They had shooters waiting! If we'd stayed, we'd be dead too!"
Mickey craned his neck, trying to escape the blinding light. Sal just knelt there, silent. Like he'd already accepted his fate.
Didn't matter to me either way.
Stand there quiet or beg and cry—same ending.
I turned my head slightly, extending my right hand toward Sergei.
He stepped forward immediately, placing a suppressed pistol in my palm.
"Ten million in merchandise. Five men dead."
I lowered my eyes, raised the gun.
"Pakhan! No! Please—"
I had zero interest in more excuses. I lifted my arm and squeezed the trigger.
Two muffled shots. Mickey and Sal collapsed backward into the mud.
I lowered the barrel, tossed the gun back to Sergei.
"Get two oil drums." I held Sergei's gaze. "Fill them with cement. Sink these pieces of shit in the river."
"Understood, sir." Sergei caught the weapon smoothly, signaling the cleanup crew.
I turned toward the black Maybach waiting in the shadows, sliding into the back seat. Sergei finished up quickly and returned to start the engine.
It was done. But I still couldn't settle down. I pinched the bridge of my nose hard.
This wasn't the first time. Lately, the family business was hitting walls everywhere.
Last week, two secret shipping routes through Miami got intercepted by customs. Tonight, the Colombians somehow knew our firepower deployment ahead of time, predicted our exit routes perfectly.
No question—someone was selling Volkov family intel. A snake was coiled right in my inner circle.
If I didn't root him out fast, next time it'd be me bleeding out on these docks.
Not many people had access to both pieces of intel. I ran through the list of possibilities in my head.
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen, disgusted. My temples throbbed harder.
Dmitri Sokolov.
Calling at a time like this. Might as well wave a red flag.
I answered. That nauseating, friendly voice came through immediately.
"Good evening, Roman. Hope I'm not interrupting business. I heard there was a little accident at the docks tonight."
I couldn't help but laugh coldly. The weapons deal went south barely an hour ago. And he already knew.
"Just some rats misbehaving. You step on them and move on." I scoffed. "Since when do you care about my pest control, Dmitri? You haven't even dealt with your own shit, and now you're sticking your nose into mine?"
Dmitri chuckled low.
"Still as charming as ever. I'm just showing concern as an elder."
"Get to the point."
"So impatient." His voice carried mockery. "I'm calling to congratulate you. I hear our cold-blooded pakhan finally has a new lady of the house."
I laughed coldly. The list of suspects just got a lot shorter. Dmitri wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.
"I hear she's very young. Very beautiful." His laugh turned sinister. "Congratulations, Roman."
I'd brought Leah back to the estate in complete secrecy. Besides a few trusted men and guards, no one knew she existed.
"Dmitri." I lowered my voice. "You're reaching too far."
"I'm genuinely wishing you both well. I hope this beautiful young lady lives a little longer in your care than the last one."
"I'll take your good wishes." I smiled coldly. "But don't test my limits again. Remember this—"
I paused, enunciating each word as a warning.
"A rat is always a rat. No matter how many eyes you've planted in my house, I'm the one who wins. And you—you don't have a second sister to save your worthless hide."
I didn't wait for his bullshit. I hung up and threw the phone out the window.
The move was unusual enough that Sergei glanced at me carefully through the rearview mirror.
That call confirmed everything. Dmitri wasn't just intercepting my shipments—he even knew I'd brought Leah back to the estate, information that should've been absolutely classified.
The mole was buried in my inner circle. Maybe right inside the Long Island compound.
I closed my eyes, running through every face in the estate.
Who the hell was it?
I was still replaying details when the car reached the grounds.
"Tell Nick." I walked as I gave Sergei orders. "Double all perimeter security. Triple it. Lock down every entrance and exit. No one moves without my direct order. Then bring everyone on the list to—"
A woman rushed toward me, cutting me off.
When I saw who it was, I was actually surprised. Emily, usually so composed, had never looked this frantic. She came at me like I was her last hope, completely flustered.
"Sir! Thank God you're back! You need to come see this!"
I frowned. "What happened? Is Maria back?"
"No! No! It's Mrs. Volkova! And Miss Mira!"
I sighed. Those two names together never meant anything good.
"What about them?"
"Sir! They're rolling around on the carpet fighting! Right now!" Emily looked desperate.
I froze mid-step.
"Fighting?" I repeated the word, disbelieving.
"Yes! We can't pull them apart!" Emily was nearly in tears.
I took a deep breath. My temples pounded harder.
From the day Leah set foot in this estate, there hadn't been a single peaceful moment.
That woman was a walking time bomb. Either turning the kitchen into a disaster zone, talking back to the guards, or now—apparently—brawling with a five-year-old.
That contract was shaping up to be the worst money I'd ever spent.
"Fine. I'll handle it."
I unclenched my fists and strode toward the end of the hall.